Ultimatum

by Anders de la Motte

  She bucked her upper body wildly and tried to stay on her knees. Her violent movements were burning up the oxygen in her blood and she was going to have to take a breath any moment now. Inhale the air that was still in the bag, and her nose and throat would fill with soot.

  Her heartbeat was thudding inside her head, her lungs bursting. She had no choice, couldn’t resist any longer. She had to take that breath.

  The sooty powder filled her throat, making her airways cramp. The plastic sucked hard onto her nose and mouth. She felt her knees buckle. And knew it would all soon be over.

  Fifty-Three

  Julia was lying on her side. The bag had slipped up a bit and let in enough air for her brain to start working again. She coughed, spluttered, and gasped for breath. She tossed her head to get the bag away from her mouth.

  Through the misted, sooty plastic she could see movement, as if Wallin was wrestling with someone. For a fraction of a second she got it into her head that it was Amante, but then she realized that her mind was playing tricks on her. Someone else had saved her, given her a chance of survival. She tugged at the handcuffs and finally managed to break the back of the chair apart. She untangled herself from it, slipped her cuffed hands under her backside, and tucked her legs up as tightly as she could. With a lot of effort she managed to slip the cuffs past her feet, so that she now had her hands in front of her.

  She tore off the plastic bag and blinked a couple of times. The fight was still going on, and she crawled as quickly as she could toward her pistol, which was lying in the corner where Wallin had kicked it. The men were fighting almost silently. All she could hear was their groans and the sounds of elbows, knees, and fists hitting their targets. There was a crash as the table collapsed. Then a groan that turned into a gurgle.

  When she reached the gun, she grasped it with both hands. She pulled the bolt back by pressing the top of the pistol against her thigh. Then she rolled over onto her back.

  “Stand still!” she shouted, aiming the weapon at the two men.

  The attacker had the upper hand. He was standing behind Wallin, had a firm grip around his neck and throat, and was in the process of slowly strangling him. She recognized him immediately in spite of his bandaged face. It was Atif Kassab.

  Wallin’s face was turning blue, and his eyes were bulging. He was still trying to break free, flailing above his head with his arms and trying to reach Kassab, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to succeed.

  “Let go of him!” she yelled, twisting to get a better firing angle. “Let go of him, Kassab, or I’ll shoot!”

  The distance was no more than a couple of meters, but she could feel the lack of oxygen making her hands tremble. What the hell was Kassab doing there just then?

  Wallin stopped flailing. He evidently thought he had a better chance of survival if he kept completely still. Kassab looked at her, then at the gun in her hands.

  “Do it, Gabrielsson,” Wallin croaked. “Shoot him. You’ll be the heroine of the force.”

  Kassab tightened his grip, trying to keep Wallin’s body in front of him as a shield. Julia kept her aim on him and waited for his next move. But nothing happened. Her head was still clearing. Even so, the situation felt hopelessly confused. She tried to gain some time.

  “What are you doing here, Kassab?”

  “Wallin snitched. He told Susanna and Eldar where they could find us. Because of him, Tindra no longer has a mother. My family isn’t safe as long as he . . . as long as anyone . . .”

  Kassab let out a gurgle. One whole side of his shirt was dark with blood, she now noticed. She remembered the pictures from the team meeting earlier. The trail of blood at the villa.

  “And Susanna Jafarov?” Julia said. “Was that for the same reason?”

  Kassab didn’t answer. It looked as if he was having trouble staying on his feet. His grip on Wallin’s neck loosened slightly.

  “What are you waiting for?” Wallin hissed. “Shoot him. You’ll get a medal. The minister of justice and I will—”

  Kassab tightened his grip again, enough to get Wallin to shut up. Julia was still aiming at Kassab. She looked him in the eye. Then Wallin. She saw hatred there. Hatred toward Kassab, hatred toward her. Hatred toward everything and everyone who stood in his way.

  Find him, a voice whispered in her head.

  “Wallin tried to burn my friend alive,” she said. “Omar Amante, the one you called Vaseline. And he murdered Sebastian there, an entirely innocent civilian, and was trying to do the same thing to me. All to get power for himself. If you hadn’t shown up, I’d be dead by now.”

  She stared at Kassab along the top of the pistol. Her hands were shaking less now. She’d be able to shoot. The distance was two, three meters at most.

  She aimed at Kassab’s face and began to squeeze the trigger. He went on staring straight at her. Oddly, his eyes weren’t at all scared but more sorrowful. They reminded her of Amante’s. And all of a sudden she realized what that look meant.

  It was the look of someone who had seen far too much death but was still struggling to go on. Doing whatever was necessary, no matter what the cost. Because there was no other choice.

  She eased up on the trigger and slowly lowered the gun. Then nodded slowly toward Kassab.

  Wallin suddenly seemed to realize what was happening. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. His limbs jerked a couple of times as the grip on his throat tightened. Soon there was an unpleasant crunching sound as Kassab broke his neck. Julia looked away; she didn’t want to watch as Kassab let Wallin’s dead body fall to the floor.

  Kassab slumped onto one of the rib-backed chairs. The big bloodstain had spread down his thigh and past his knee. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was still conscious. That he was even alive.

  Clumsily, she holstered her pistol, got to her feet, managed to pull her key ring from her trouser pocket, and removed the cuffs.

  • • •

  “Can you hear me, Kassab?” she said.

  Atif looked up and nodded slowly.

  The blonde cop straightened up. “I’m leaving now. In five minutes I’ll call for an ambulance and police. It’ll be ten minutes or so before the first car gets here.”

  The room started to spin faster. The ceiling and floor changed places; the details dissolved and became a fog. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could hear voices, someone calling him.

  “You can decide for yourself what you want to do,” the cop said. He saw her lips move, but he was no longer listening.

  Instead he sees the tiger in front of him. It lies on the ground as the life slowly runs out of it. Its glossy red stomach heaves up and down, slower and slower. Its head falls back.

  The voices were still calling, closer now. He recognized them. Adnan and Cassandra.

  “They’re safe now,” he murmured, and closed his eyes.

  He thought about Tindra. Her breath against his neck, her little heart vibrating against his chest. Drumming fast, as fast as a bird’s. He imagined her and Natalie, hand in hand beneath the desert sky as night fell slowly, releasing the stars.

  Fifty-Four

  The conference room on the third floor had a view of the little Rosenbadsparken, like Stenberg’s own office. Heavy furniture, a thick carpet, and a smell of power that made him slightly giddy.

  “Well, then, I’ll see you downstairs in a moment.” The prime minister shook his hand and leaned forward slightly. “A piece of advice from someone who’s been around a while: Enjoy this moment. After this evening, nothing will ever be the same again.”

  “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind. Your advice is always highly appreciated.”

  Stenberg smiled his best TV smile and kept his gaze steady. He didn’t even have to try particularly hard. The old man’s little mind games had become increasingly predictable. Karolina was right: he was the f
uture now, and from that perspective his boss’s jibes looked pretty pathetic. An old man’s way of telling himself that he still had the upper hand.

  The prime minister and his entourage left the conference room. Cecilia and his father-in-law remained behind.

  “What do you want to do now, Jesper?” Karl-Erik asked as Karolina silently joined them. “Does he need to go through the speech again? Perhaps that would be best. One more time, just to be sure.”

  Karl-Erik spoke directly to his press secretary, which, in contrast to the prime minister’s comment, immediately triggered Stenberg’s irritation. But before he could say anything, Karolina had put her hand on his arm.

  “You’ve got it all under control, haven’t you, darling?” She turned toward her father and the press secretary. “I’ve arranged for a bite to eat up in Jesper’s room, and he’ll need to shower and change his shirt. We want him to look smart next to the prime minister. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  Karl-Erik exchanged a glance with his daughter. For a few moments it looked as though he was going to object, but then he nodded.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea, my dear.”

  • • •

  Julia Gabrielsson was driving into the city. She passed police cars and ambulances on the way. She managed to hold down her nausea until she had driven a couple of kilometers and found a suitable parking spot. Then she opened the car door and threw up on the blacktop. She didn’t stop until she could taste bile stinging her mouth.

  She cleaned her face with some wet wipes she found in the glove compartment, then sank back in the seat and rested her hands on the wheel. They were shaking.

  Wallin had clearly been utterly insane, but he had been right about one thing: she couldn’t trust anyone. She had to make sense of this mess on her own. Going to the press and letting them bring down Stenberg for his involvement in Sophie Thorning’s death didn’t really feel like a viable option. Sarac’s killer would escape, and she would have turned herself into a leak. No better than Pärson.

  That left Wallin’s second suggestion. Turning to the people who were protecting Stenberg. And explaining to them that the secret was safe in her hands.

  She had just averted her eyes as another person was murdered. Would she be forced to do that again? That would mean she had let down David Sarac, and Amante, and everything she believed in.

  A thought suddenly popped into her head, supported by something Wallin had said. Stenberg didn’t know who was responsible for Sarac’s murder. He probably didn’t even know that Sarac had tried to contact him. But, according to Wallin, Stenberg had begun to suspect that things weren’t quite right and that John Thorning’s death might not have been a coincidence. So perhaps he might listen to what she had to tell him. He might even believe her. It would all depend on how she presented it.

  It might work. Or it could be the death of her.

  In that case you’ll be in good company, Julia, a voice whispered. She looked up, almost expecting to see Sarac’s mutilated face in the rearview mirror. But of course there was no one there. She started the car, put it in first gear, and drove off slowly toward the main government buildings.

  • • •

  “What’s happened between you and Daddy?” Karolina handed him his freshly pressed shirt. “You used to get along so well.”

  Yes, until I realized just how ruthless Karl-Erik is, Stenberg thought.

  “Sometimes your father forgets who actually sits behind that desk,” he said as he fastened the buttons. “Don’t get me wrong: I’m only too aware of everything Karl-Erik has done for me. But if I’d enjoyed doing someone else’s bidding, I might as well have stayed at Thorning & Partners.”

  “John Thorning is dead.” She put the tie around his neck. Her voice had that harsh note he didn’t like.

  He forced out a smile.

  “We’ll sort it out. As soon as this is over, I’ll sit down with your father and smoke the peace pipe.” He saw her brighten up a little.

  “Good! I don’t want my two favorite men to be at loggerheads. There!” She adjusted the knot. Centered it perfectly between the wings of his collar. A double Windsor, just like the one her father always wore.

  There was a knock on the door and Stenberg’s secretary popped her head in.

  “Excuse me, but there’s a detective from Stockholm Regional Crime, a Julia Gabrielsson, down at reception. She wants to talk to you about the fire in the boathouse last night. Says it’s important.”

  Karolina turned toward her. “Jesper hasn’t got time for distractions, Jeanette. Anyway, the boathouse is leased to my father. Ask her to make an appointment to see him.”

  Jeanette looked slightly sheepish. “Yes, I explained that to her, but she was most insistent. She asked me to say that new information has emerged and that the minister would want to be informed before the press conference.”

  Stenberg looked at the time. Forty-five minutes to go. Any moment now his press secretary would be standing at the door, wanting him to go through that ridiculous speech again. And this time Karolina would make him agree to it. Would make him dance to her daddy’s tune like a good boy.

  “Send this Gabrielsson up, if you would, please,” he said. He ignored the look his wife gave him, went over to the window, and gazed out. He didn’t turn around until Julia Gabrielsson was standing in the doorway. For a few moments it looked as if Karolina was going to stay, and he noticed Gabrielsson shuffling uncomfortably. Then his wife appeared to change her mind.

  “Five minutes. I’ll keep Cecilia calm in the meantime.” Karolina closed the door behind her.

  Stenberg gestured to Gabrielsson to sit down.

  “Well, then. What’s this information that you wanted to share with me in such an unconventional manner?”

  Gabrielsson held her cell phone out toward him. An image directly from his nightmares. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

  Sophie Thorning’s battered body across the hood of his BMW. White skin, black metal, red blood. For a brief, dizzy moment he almost thought Sophie was going to raise her head and turn in his direction. Smile at him with her shattered face.

  Did you think you could forget me, Jesper?

  He started, and swallowed hard. Then he looked up and met Julia Gabrielsson’s gaze. And realized at once that his reaction had given him away.

  “I know you were there,” she said slowly. “I know what happened, and I know who cleaned up after you.”

  Stenberg swallowed again. Glanced fleetingly at the door. Karolina and Cecilia were going to appear at any moment.

  “Wh-What do you want?” he said, almost in a whisper. “You can have anything—anything at all.”

  “I only want one thing. Something that only you can give me. I want David Sarac’s murderer.”

  Fifty-Five

  Stenberg watched the door close behind Julia Gabrielsson. He sat motionless for a few seconds before calling his secretary. His hand was shaking and he cleared his throat to make sure his voice would remain steady.

  “Jeanette, would you mind getting ahold of my father-in-law? We don’t have much time, so right away, please.”

  There was a knock on the door and Karolina came back in.

  “What was that about?”

  Stenberg struggled to adopt the right expression.

  “The man who was badly burned in the boathouse. It turns out he’s Victor Amante’s son.”

  Karolina started. “What?”

  “And the Security Police found him poking around out there the other day.” Stenberg fell silent, deciding not to say anything else.

  “So this Gabrielsson came all the way here just to tell you that? Couldn’t she have called or, better still, let one of her bosses do it through the usual channels?”

  Stenberg pulled a face to show that he agreed with her.

  “Gab
rielsson used to work for Wallin. She knows how important the press conference is and was worried that the information about Amante might have leaked, that one of the reporters might ask about it this evening. She decided to inform me personally, seeing as she happened to be nearby. A little overzealous, perhaps, but you have to admire her strategic thinking.”

  Karolina was giving him that look that usually cut straight through him. He met her gaze and did his utmost not to buckle under it.

  “Why didn’t Wallin contact you?” she said.

  Stenberg shrugged. “Apparently he’s otherwise engaged.”

  There was another knock on the door and Karl-Erik walked in without waiting for an answer, as usual.

  “You wanted to talk to me, Jesper?”

  “Yes, I do. Have a seat.” He gestured toward the visitors’ chairs, then turned to his wife. “Darling, I’ve just remembered, I forgot to synchronize our holiday schedule with Jeanette. I don’t suppose you feel like dealing with that with her?”

  “Now?” She sounded confused, almost insulted at being sent out again.

  Stenberg nodded. “Just as well to get it done.” He winked at her to indicate that he and her father needed to talk man-to-man.

  “Okay. You’re sure this is the right time?” She raised her eyes questioningly.

  “Definitely.”

  Unless you’d rather stay and watch when I knock your father off his fucking pedestal, he thought.

  Stenberg locked the door behind Karolina. Then he returned to his desk.

  “Not long to go now,” Karl-Erik said, and glanced at his watch. “You’ve fought well, managed to get right to the top.”

  “I’ve had a good adviser”—Stenberg smiled—“someone who made sure I kept moving in the right direction, and helped get rid of the occasional obstacle. Like John Thorning, for ­instance . . .”

  A little wrinkle appeared between Karl-Erik’s eyebrows. Stenberg leaned forward.